I used to think desire was a word
which I should seek — experience in full.
Somehow it drew me and my loins were stirred
perceiving it as almost visual.
Whenever I desired I acquiesced;
temptation’s flickers set my heart in flames.
But then I saw desire as second-best
lusting after unattainable aims.
So now no longer do I fill my eyes
and ears with thoughts of what I vainly want.
Whatever comes my way I improvise;
when faced with snares I shall be nonchalant.
And thus desire and I have formed a truce
because for futile ends I have no use.
© 2012, Alan Morrison